


The Lions of House Cousland

by vakarians_girl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Cousland Cousins, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age), Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26226145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vakarians_girl/pseuds/vakarians_girl
Summary: As cousins, the future of House Cousland rests upon Talvinder Kaur and Savreen Kaur. They've been raised with the knowledge that one day, either they or their brothers will rule over their family's Teyrnir - but everything changes when the Grey Warden arrives. Now, with their family and their home in ashes and as members of the Grey Wardens themselves, they must fight both the Darkspawn and their grief in order to find that which they once thought a certainty: a future.Savreen belongs to my dear friend Under Lavender Skies over on FanFiction.net, and we work closely together on this story, as Savreen and Ranjit's plot are entirely hers. It's important to state that though Lav is Punjabi and Sikh, I am white. The purpose of this story is to be respectful, and to that end if there is anything, no matter how small, that bothers you, please let me know.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland, Alistair/Female Warden, Alistair/Warden, Gilmore/Female Cousland, Gilmore/Female Warden, Gilmore/Warden, Ranjit/Savreen, Talvinder/Alistair
Comments: 13
Kudos: 6





	1. The End of Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, as well as chapter 2, has been through a number of edits at this point, mostly because I'm incapable of leaving things alone and it helps with the chapter 3 writer's block. Sorry for the inconsistent updates, I'm hoping 2021 will be a better writing year.

“Tali, when you’re quite finished, your father wants to see you in the main hall. Something about a visitor and wanting to see you before he goes. Savreen, darling, you too.” Lady Eleanor’s voice rings out, sharp and clear, even over the clang of metal. Muscles aching, Talvinder steps out of her shield stance to look up at the balcony above the training grounds, breaking her practice with her cousin. Sunlight catches on her mother’s silvering hair and Tali squints before she waves her sword in acknowledgement.

“Is this the type of visitor for whom I should wash?” She reaches to the waterskin beside her; the words have scratched the skin in her throat as they left. The water is soothing, and she dumps some of it out onto her head, blistering hot as the black strands of her braided bun draw in the heat around her. Next to her, Savreen laughs, but then does the same.

“Every visitor is a visitor for whom you should wash, darling. Get to it. Oh, and don’t forget, Lady Landra is coming to stay for a while. Come greet her when you’re done.” A rueful chuckle tumbles out of Tali’s mouth—as if she expected her mother to say anything else. She catches Sav’s eye, who, of course, looks perfect. Her onyx braid falls down her back, shining as much as a strand of silver. With one last swig of water, Tali pulls her shield straps from her arm and sheaths her sword, nodding grudgingly to Sav. She will wash for this visitor, but she would rather remain on the training ground. 

***

“There you are, pups. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I wanted to speak to you before we leave. Duncan, allow me to introduce my daughter, Talvinder Kaur, and my niece, Savreen Kaur. Pups, this is Duncan.” Tali imagines she can still feel water dripping down her back beneath the clothes she has hastily thrown on, though it may be water from her hair. Or sweat. She’s not sure, and she doesn’t really care—especially if this is the type of ‘visitor’ that she has begun to expect. Either way, just as she steps into the great hall, her father makes sure that everyone sees her. Tali’s eyes jump up to her father’s face, backlit by the fire, light wreathed around his turban and in the edges of his beard, standing next to her uncle. He’s smiling warmly at her, they both are, though there’s something guarded in her father’s expression, and when she looks to see who Duncan is, Talvinder understands. 

“Are you a Grey Warden?” The words spill from her lips before she can stop them, excitement pooling in her chest. This is what she has wanted for ages—a chance to fight in a way her father and brother haven’t, a chance to prove herself next to them. The stories of the Grey Wardens flit through her head, the ones she was raised on, and her mind goes a thousand miles ahead of her, where she’s fighting an ugly horned archdemon—

“Yes child, I am.”

“Yes pup, he’s here to test Ser Gilmore for recruitment.” Tali’s images falter and then stop. _Of course_ , she thinks. He calls her a child, and her father’s voice is sharp and pointed in her ears. Talvinder is suddenly extra aware of her misfit body, of the muscles that set her apart from the other genteel women and the femininity that separates her from almost every other person on the training grounds. Humiliation burns down her spine and she turns her eyes down. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees another pair of boots.

“Greetings, Arl Howe, it is a pleasure to see you again,” says Savreen, the model of poise, her voice carefully measured, despite the fact that Tali knows that she would never call seeing Arl Howe a ‘pleasure’ if it were up to her.

“Arl Howe, forgive me. My greetings to you. How was your journey?” Talvinder can practically feel her father’s relief was over her as she turns her attention away from the warden.

“Of course, my lady. Greetings to you, as well. It was pleasant enough, though the bulk of my forces have been delayed. My own fault, really.”

“I hope it is nothing serious?” Savreen offers up her concern, and Tali silently begs _don’t mention your son, don’t mention your son, don’t mention-_

“Not at all, I simply failed to shore up the levies in time before the rainy season. I’ve left my son in charge, however, otherwise I might have brought him with me, to see you again Talvinder.” There is a suggestion in his words, and Tali grimaces a smile, but before she can say anything, her father speaks.

“Well at any rate, we shall be ready to leave in the morning. Which is why I need to ask you, pup, to go find Fergus and tell him to make ready to leave without me. There is much still for me to prepare, and I cannot run about chasing down my errant offspring.”

“’Errant offspring’? Remember who you’re leaving in charge while you’re gone!”

“In charge? You forget, Tali, that I’m sharing duties with you?” Sav teases lightly, and a wide grin breaks across Tali’s face. Playfully she shoves her father’s arm, forgetting for a moment that there is both a storied warrior and an Arl of the kingdom watching. Suddenly uncomfortable again, she steps back, standing straight and solemn. In a slightly hushed voice, she asks “Are you sure it’s the right decision? Leaving me in charge?”

“Of course I am, pup. I trust you. And you’ve grown up well. Despite your mother’s reluctance in allowing you to train, and mine in sending you to finishing school, you’ve become a skilled warrior and people-pleaser, both. You will do fine.” His eyes are sparkling, dark above the curve of his nose, and Talvinder takes a deep breath, nods, and plasters her smile back across her face.

“Savreen.” Bikram, Tali’s uncle, calls to his daughter. “Sikander must leave with Fergus, if you could find him too. I must speak with Chadda before we go, so if you could meet us in our rooms when you’ve collected your brother, I would appreciate it.” Softly, Sav smiles and inclines her head.

“Of course, father. My lords, I must take my leave as my father bids. Safe travels, all.” Tali watches Sav as she turns on her heel and walks out, headed to the stables, where Sikander is most likely readying his horse for the long march. After the doors have closed behind her, Tali turns back to her father, uncle, and the visitors.

“Well then, I suppose I too must obey my lord and father’s commands so long as he is here to scold me for disobeying them! Uncle, my heart goes with you. Good sir Duncan, I look forward to speaking with you more—” her father snorts at this, but Tali ignores him “—and my lord Howe, I simply want to wish you luck.” A strange look passes over Howe’s features, one slightly shocked, or perhaps bemused. Tali thinks it may even be one of irony or humor, but then it is gone, and she cannot tell. The man is impassive and unreadable as ever.

“Why, thank you, my lady, though I assure you—it is quite unnecessary.” As she leaves, Talvinder tries to shove the uneasiness down into her stomach. She has never disliked Howe as much as Sav, but she cannot shake the feeling. Something is wrong.

***

Finding Fergus is easy. He’s in the bedchamber he shares with his wife, Oriana, saying goodbye to their son (Talvinder’s favorite nephew, she says, though he is too young still to understand he is her only nephew).

“Do-do you need me to wait in the hall?” Tali says as Fergus cradles Oriana’s face, forehead resting against hers. “Because I can absolutely wait. In fact, if I don’t, dinner might be making a reappearance on the floor.” Fergus laughs, kissing Oriana’s nose as Tali feigns retching, loudly, behind them.

“Someday you’ll fall in love, little sister, and then you’ll understand. Leaving my pretty wife to be bothered by your terrible jokes all day is a pain to my heart in ways you can’t even—”

“Papa said he’s going to bring me back a sward!” Little hands are tugging at Tali’s skirt, unsteady as Oren jumps up and down.

“That’s sword, Oren. And yes, only if you’re good and listen to your aunt and mother while I’m away.” As Oren jumps again, Tali grabs the little boy, kneeling down and tickling his sides. Shrieks of laughter fill the room, drowning out the crackling of the fire.

“Oh he’ll be good, all right, or else I shall tickle him mercilessly!”

“I’ll be good! I promise I promise I promise!” He scampers away, breathless and grinning and still laughing ever so slightly, and hides behind his mother’s skirts.

“See? He promises. Oh, and Fergus, I bring news and a message from Father. There’s a Grey Warden—” Both Fergus and Oren speak at the same time, Oren much more excited.

“Is he looking to recruit?” Fergus asks, “Did he bring a griffin?” Oren shouts.

“Gryphons are extinct, my love,” Oriana says softly, fluffing the boy’s dark hair with a smile. Her dark brown eyes meet Talvinder’s, and she shakes her head bemusedly.

“No, Oren, no gryphons here. He’s come to test Ser Gilmore, actually.” _Although perhaps when you and Father leave, I can try my own hand at it._

“If I were a Grey Warden, I’d have my eye on you, little sister. But, I suppose one can’t have everything. Now, what was this message from Father?”

“He says that you and Sikander are to leave tonight, as planned, but without him. He and Howe will follow in the morning, as the Arl’s troops have been delayed.” Fergus nods, fiddling with the edge of his dastar. He tucks a few hairs under the turban’s edge as though they were out of place, though Tali knows nothing was. Fergus swallows.

“I wish I was going with you,” she says softly. She can tell when he’s nervous. “But I’m sure everything will-will turn out all right. You’ll see.” Oriana takes Fergus’ hand, and glances thankfully at her sister-in-law.

“She’s right, my love. And the sooner you leave, the sooner you will return to us.”

“Besides, my dear big brother, I’ll need you to come back and rescue Highever from my leadership before long. I only know so many jokes, and I’m sure the people have heard them all. They’ll be bored of me within the hour, and even our cousin won’t be able to stop it.” As Fergus barks out a short, sharp laugh, the door opens behind them, and Tali turns to see their mother and father entering the room.

“Wait, couldn’t you have delivered the message yourself?”

“And miss having my family all in one room?” Birsingh claps a hand on Talvinder’s shoulder, flashing her a warm smile. At the same time, Eleanor squeezes her daughter’s hand and moves to stand near Fergus. “It will be a long few months, that is for certain. I was hoping, before we all retire, that we could pray Kirtan Sohila together one last time.” Again, there it is, the deep and strange and sudden anxiety gnawing in the pit of Tali’s stomach. It’s just a temporary goodbye, but she has a feeling that it won’t be temporary, somehow. Her chest starts to squeeze, tight, painful, the air inside too hot or cold or both or neither, but definitely too sharp and—

“Pup, I know you’re scared about being in charge.” Birsingh’s voice coils around her ears, into her mind, and Tali’s heart slows.

“Father I—”

“My darling. You are a capable leader. You have grown into a woman of great valor and conscience.”

“And a horribly un-funny girl!” Fergus adds, rather unhelpfully, but it jars Tali just enough out of the cloud of anxiety to stick her tongue out at him.

“Fergus! Some of her jokes are funny!” Oriana’s hushed rebuke and sharp elbow to Fergus’ ribs coax a smile from Tali, though Eleanor rolls her eyes and Birsingh sighs with exasperation.

“My point, pup, is that you have the skills to handle this. You are nearly a score in age, and in that time, you have become a formidable swordswoman and a kind person, someone who would make our ancestors proud.” Softly, he reaches out to cup his daughter’s cheek. “You will have Savreen to help you, and we will be back before you know it.” Tali closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, nodding slightly. Her father’s praise is not without meaning, and she tries to believe it. She tries to believe his confidence, both in her and in his own fate. “Now, you need to get to bed early. There is much to do tomorrow. Let us all pray together before you go. Fergus, would you like to start the first shabad?”

“Certainly, father.” Tali lets the warmth of the fire and her family, together, wash over her as Fergus’s voice, now calm and soft, wafts across the air. “One Universal Creator God, by the grace of the one true Guru…” The prayer, comforting in its familiarity, acts like a balm as it fills her mind. Perhaps it will all turn out fine, after all.

***

Talvinder is dreaming of a game of ball she played, long ago in the Denerim castle courtyard when a low growl startles her awake.

“Abarie? What is it girl?” For a minute, rubbing her eyes, Tali thinks she can hear someone approaching outside the door. It must be Savreen, unable to sleep, and so she stretches, yawns, and goes to open the door when Abarie growls again. The feeling of wrongness returns, and Tali freezes, feeling vulnerable in her nightshirt. She listens. There’s a strangled scream from outside, and then the clanking of armor. Whipping around, she has just enough time to grab her sword before the door to her room flings open, and a terrified squire appears.

“They’re in the castle! My lady—” A sudden _thwip,_ and then an arrow is protruding from his chest, and he falls. Behind him are two soldiers. Two soldiers wearing Howe’s sigil.

Much of what comes next is blurred. When Tali begins to breathe again, the soldiers are dead before her, her sword coated with their blood. Shaking, she pulls on pants and her training armor, slinging her shield around her shoulders. She has to find Mother, and Savreen, and Father and Uncle and Aunt and—Abarie growls yet again and darts into the hall. Talvinder follows to see two more soldiers at the door to her parents’ room, and as she approaches, sword high, the door opens behind them, and her mother comes out, bow in hand and quiver slung at her side. The soldiers fall quickly, and suddenly the only noise in the hall is Abarie’s panting.

“Mother, what’s happening? Are you all right?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing, my dear. Have you seen your father?”

“No, I’ve been asleep.”

“He went back to meet with Howe and Bikram again, just to make sure everything was set for the morning. He never came back up to bed.”

“What about aunt Chadda? Savreen? Did Fergus and Sikander leave?”

“Yes, the boys left for Ostagar several hours ago. I haven’t seen Chadda and Savreen, or Bikram. We need to find them!”

“We need to check on Oren and Oriana, mother.” The edges of everything around Tali become too sharp, her mouth dry as she looks towards the door across the hall, where her sister and nephew should be sleeping. The sudden realization that the room has been silent this whole time stirs dread in her.

“Maker’s breath, you don’t think Howe would—” As if steered by another, Talvinder walks to the door. It isn’t latched. She pushes it open.

“No! My poor Oren!” As Eleanor falls to her knees, Tali is glued in place. Oren’s tanned skin is dull and grey, angry welts and bruising ringing his neck and a dark black pool of blood leaking from his stomach. And Oriana, with deep cuts across her fingers and a single, gaping gash from ear to ear, seems to be wearing a deep red smock. Her family. This is her family. And they are being slaughtered. Tali reaches down to her mother’s shoulder, trying to pull her away, but instead she stumbles, unsteady, and tips back against the wall as a sob rises in her throat.

“Talvinder! Aunt Eleanor! We’re so glad we’ve found you. We’ve been looking every—” Savreen and Chadda rush up to the door, followed by Sav’s mabari, Sher, only to stop dead in their tracks when they see the carnage spread out in front of them. The shuddering gasp that draws from Sav’s lips scrapes across Tali’s ears, and as Chadda begins to mumble the kirtan sohila, the truth of the death rushes over Tali.

“Howe’s not even taking prisoners. He means to kill us all.” Eleanor’s voice is ragged as she meets Chadda’s eyes.

“We can’t let him, sister.” As Tali’s aunt helps her mother to her feet, she joins Sav in the doorway. She can’t look in her brother’s room any more.

“Tali, we fought our way to you, but it’s bad. I haven’t seen our fathers, or Ser Gilmore. We managed to get the family swords from the vault, but we need to get to the great hall. We have to find them.”

“The Grey Warden? Is he here? What’s happened to him?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him either. Just a lot of Howe’s men.”

“You’re right. There’s no time to waste.” Savreen and Talvinder turn to see their mothers embracing, Chadda comforting Eleanor.

“Aunt Eleanor, Mother, we have to move. The longer we wait here, the harder it will be to get to Father and Uncle Birsingh.”

“You’re right, darling.” Eleanor’s voice scares Tali with its coldness, its numbness, and she takes her mother’s hand to lead her out through the castle. It is strangely calm as Tali rifles through the chest in her room, shoving things into a hurriedly grabbed bag. To throw her kangha and kirpan and several kacheras into the canvas receptacle, without knowledge of a future or a return to her family home, terrifies her. But soon it is time to move again, and such thoughts must be abandoned for the sheer purpose of survival. The bag is tied about her torso, the only belongings in the world she can be sure of now.

After several ambushes, their group arrives at the Great Hall, opening the doors only to see another pitched fight. Frantically, Savreen unsheathes her sword as she spots Gilmore in the throng, rushing into the fray. Out of the corner of her eye, Talvinder sees an enemy mage building up to cast, sparks of lightning weaving around her fingers. She knows she has to stop the mage before the spell arcs to the group of fighters, before the lightning chain is cast. With a thought and a few leaping steps, Tali stands in front of the mage. A bash from her shield knocks the mage out of her cast, and then the swing of Tali’s sword is stopped by the staff. Tali’s blood rushes in her ears as they exchange blows, the sounds of the battle falling away except for the whacks of metal on magically strengthened wood, the occasional sharp bursts of electricity that crackle past her.

With one wet thud, Tali’s sword connects with the bend of the mage’s neck, right where it meets her shoulder. Tali looks away quickly, before she can see anything more, and sees that most of the fight has died down behind her.

“My ladies, I’m so relieved to see that you’re alive,” says Ser Gilmore, who briefly places a hand on Sav’s shoulder, gazing at her earnestly, before he seems to recall what’s going on and steps back, shaking his hand as though burned and placing it back on his sword hilt. “Your fathers were here, but they left seeking you. They mentioned the servants’ entry, in the larder.”

“You saw Bikram?” Chadda’s voice is anxious, but even. “How is he? Is he with Birsingh?”

“When I saw them last, the Teyrns seemed well enough, though my lord Birsingh received a glancing blow from an assassin’s blade. Duncan, the Grey Warden, went with them.”

“We must go after them. To the larder, quickly.” Punctuating her words, Eleanor takes a forceful step forward, towards the door on the far side of the Great Hall.

“No! Ser Gilmore, we cannot leave you behind. Let us stay and fight!” Tali can hear affection in her cousin’s voice, affection and fear and desperation. With wide eyes, Sav stares into Gilmore’s face, though he cannot meet her gaze. Her long braid falls from behind her back over her shoulder as she turns to everyone else. “Please! We cannot abandon him! Any of them!”

“My lady Savreen, it will not be long before the hall is overrun. The doors will not last. You must go.”

“No, no! I can’t-we cannot lose any more people. Any more friends. Please.” The break in her voice causes Gilmore to squeeze his eyes shut.

“You have to leave. Please…Sav.” To Tali’s eyes, it seems like the tension of Savreen’s nickname hangs in the air between the pair, her cousin’s eyes pricking with suppressed tears as Gilmore squares his shoulders. “You must go. They are coming for the door. It has been an honor to serve the house of the Couslands, my ladies. Now leave!”

Taking his queue, Tali grabs Sav’s hand and drags her to the door. They run in a full tilt sprint to the larder, but when they open the door, something is very, very wrong.

“Father?”

“Bikram!”

“Oh, Birsingh, what’s happened to you?”

“No, no no no Father—”

The brother Teyrns are huddled on the floor in front of the four women. An impossibly large pool of blood has spread out from a gash in Bikram’s side, and he gasps for air as he presses his hands into the wound. Next to him, Tali’s father leans against a barrel of grain. A small slice on his hand has gone a rancid grey-green while sweat shines across his forehead, his eyes almost closed as he breathes shallowly. As Savreen and Chadda rush to Bikram, and her own mother hurries to her father, Tali drops to her knees in the doorway. She knows she’s seeing the effects of soulrot poison. She knows that only a mage can slow its spread long enough for an antidote to be prepared. She knows that there are no mages here. She knows that, kneeling there in the doorway to the larder, watching her mother frantically grip her father’s hands, she is watching him die.

“No,” she whispers, her body numb, “no, it can’t end like this.”

“This isn’t the end, my lady.” The sudden appearance of Duncan startles all of the others, but Tali can only stare glumly at her family as her aunt speaks.

“Duncan? You are the Grey Warden then? If Ser Gilmore spoke truthfully, then we must thank you for bringing our husbands this far.”

“I fear your thanks may be premature. The arl’s men are closing in. They have breached the Great Hall and will find us here soon.”

“Then go,” Bikram grunts out, “use the servants’ entrance. Get out.”

“Father, come on, stand up. You’re coming with us.”

“No, little Sav. I don’t think I will survive the standing.”

“No, no you don’t mean that. You’ll be fine. We just have to—”

“My daughter. I will only slow you down. Think of your brother. Your cousin. Someone must reach them. Duncan, you can lead them out safely?” As Tali watches Sav’s face go stony, watches Chadda lean in to rest her forehead against Bikram’s, she finally stands and moves slowly to her own father. His breaths come out quick and ragged, and he struggles to keep his eyes open as Tali comes into his line of sight.

“There you are…pup…I’ve been waiting…for you.” As she reaches her hands out to her father, she sees that they’re trembling. A strange ringing is drowning almost everything else out.

“My lords, I regret the need to ask this, but I came here seeking recruits and the Blight demands I leave with them.”

“We had hoped it would not come to this. But I hear your words.” Out of the corner of her eye, Tali sees her uncle shift and grimace as he speaks. “I know—we know—that you cannot promise they will not come to harm. But please. Do not let the House of Cousland die here.”

“Are you talking about me and Tali?” Savreen’s tone is, to Tali’s ears, surprisingly calm. Infuriatingly calm. The ringing is just so loud. How can Sav be calm?

“I am, my lady.”

“What happens if Sikander and Fergus—if something has happened to them? We have the Cousland name to think of.”

“We head directly to Ostagar. We should be able to reach them both there.”

“Very well. I will join the Wardens.” Birsingh manages to open his eyes a little wider, meeting Tali’s shell-shocked gaze.

“I will too,” she hears herself say. Her father smiles, and a lump is growing in Tali’s throat. She will carry his body out of here if she must, but she cannot say goodbye. Not here, not like this.

“Pup…it is time…for you to leave me.” With a grimace, he pulls his sheathed kirpan, still on its belt, from his body and presses it into her hands. Tali stares at it. Her father’s kara glints dully against his skin, and she fears that he will try and wrestle it from his wrist next.

“No.”

“Listen…to me. You and your cousin…must make sure that justice…is visited on Howe.”

“I’m not going. There’s got to be another way. We can fight. Sav, mother—”

“For once in your life pup!” The sudden forcefulness of her father’s voice startles her, and Tali falls backwards onto her rear. “Listen to me. This may…be your last chance. I love you”

“Go, my darling girl. I will stay behind. You will get farther if I can slow them down.” Her mother’s hand is soft on Tali’s shoulder, but all she can do is stare, uncomprehending of the suggestion.

“I will stay too.” Chadda’s voice. “I will kill all who walk through that door, to buy you all time. We love you both. So much.”

“No, mother, aunt, father—no you can’t.” The weight of a boulder is suddenly on Tali’s chest. If only the ringing would stop, she could think, and maybe that damned trembling in her fingers would cease—

“You must go. It is time.” Duncan grips Tali under the arms and hoists her to her feet like a ragdoll, and it flips a switch in her. If the ringing won’t stop, then she will just have to scream loud enough that she’s heard over it.

“You cannot make me! I won’t leave, no, no I won’t!” Savreen steps in front of Talvinder and grabs her face, but Tali yanks herself away, moving her hand to draw her sword, even as she holds tight to her father’s kirpan with shaking fingers. “I will not go! You will have to drag me!”

“Very well.” And with that, Duncan’s hands close around Tali’s waist and he lifts her, shrieking and squirming, over his shoulder. Abarie growls, but does little else, stopped from attacking by a stern look from Savreen, who then gives her parents swift kisses on their cheeks before whispering her final goodbye to them both. As Tali claws at Duncan’s armor, kicking, sobbing, she sees her father’s body slump, her mother knocking an arrow on her bow.

“Talvinder. My daughter. You have all our hearts. We live on in you, now.” Her mother’s words barely register in her ears, and then Duncan is moving beneath Tali, following Sav and Sher into the secret tunnel.

“No! No! Put me down! We can still save them! I can still—Please! I can’t leave them!” _I love them. Don’t make me go._

“Be quiet, my lady. We must be quiet. Please stop kicking.” Breathing in to scream again, twisting against the Grey Warden carrying her, trying desperately to get back to her family, Tali hears the first shout. Howe’s men have found them. Finally struck dumb by the sounds of screams, clamors, and sounds of pain behind them all, she falls still, tears streaming down her face. Abarie pads along softly behind the group, and Tali tries to focus on her. The hound is oddly quiet, her eyes intelligent and sorrowful. Abarie knows what’s happened. What still might be happening behind them. 

As the sounds fade behind them, as they move further away from the sounds of her family dying, she starts to wonder. _How could Arl Howe do this?_ She had spoken to him only a few hours ago. She had wished him _luck_ in the battle. He had _thanked_ her, had dined with her father, her uncle. He had been her family’s friend. And now, by his hand, her family lay dying - maybe already dead - behind her, her father, her mother, her aunt, her uncle, and her sister and law, and her little nephew - and all of them were growing farther away with every step she took.

She feels like she’s suffocating as Duncan carries her. She’s acutely aware of the weight of the shield slung across her back, with her family’s coat of arms embossed brightly onto its face. The Cousland sword burns against her leg where it hangs, sheathed, from her belt. Her father's kirpan, the one given to him by his father, is like lead in her grip. The pain in her chest grows worse and worse, and she remembers how confident her father had been when they prayed, how he had been so much surer of her than she was in herself.

Finally confident in Tali’s stillness, Duncan sets her down in front of him and then hisses a warning out to her.

“You have to keep moving. If Howe’s men catch us in here, we’ll be dead.” Suddenly righted, her feet unsteady beneath her, she wonders: Was it only an hour ago she woke to find her brother’s family slaughtered? Was it only an hour ago that Arl Howe’s soldiers - the men supposed to be on their side, to march in the morning with her own father and uncle—had killed the servant in front of the door to her room, while she was still groggy with sleep? Was it only an hour ago they had tried to kill her? 

She remembers now what was blurry in the moment, remembers the way the first slashed the air with his dagger, aiming to catch her chest and blitz her before she knew what was happening. She remembers how, after she dodged back, he came at her again, and the blade caught her nightshirt and seared into her shoulder before she could twist away. Her shoulder hasn’t hurt since, or maybe she just hasn’t noticed it. She presses fingers to the skin and they come away flaked with blood, some dried and some fresh. Why can’t she feel it?

Back in her room, the nighttable had crashed into her back - or maybe she had collided with it, it wasn’t clear - and she struggled to untangle her sword and its sheath from her belt, not daring to take her eyes off of the man about to barrel towards her once more. It blurred, it was so nightmarishly hectic—he lunged, the sword wouldn’t leave the sheath—she brought the hilt smashing into the side of his face, with what she was certain could only have been luck. The blunt pommel left a sharp indent in his skin, just next to his brow, and he stumbled, dazed. Terrified, shaking, Talvinder had finally yanked the sword out of its sheath, pulled it back for a swing and—

The cool night air pulls her from her reverie, brushing loose hair across her face as they come abruptly to the end of the tunnel. They are beyond the walls of the keep, emerging from an outcropping in one of the vassal’s fields. She is stunned, and for a moment, stops dead in her tracks behind Savreen and Sher. Duncan slams into her, but Abarie avoids her, and she is nearly knocked off her feet.

“Teyrna Cousland - “ He grabs her by the elbow, keeping her from falling as Sav turns around, but his words are a slap. 

“I am not the Teyrna. I am the Teyrn’s daughter. Sav, tell him.” _And my father is still alive_ , she thinks. _He must be._

“Teyrna Cousland,” Duncan continues, more firmly. There is—not coldness, surely?—but something hard in his voice. “We must continue on. If we are to reach Ostagar ahead of Howe and his men, we cannot stop.” Now he softens. “Not even to grieve. There will be time for that later. Now I must get you and your cousin safely to the other Wardens.” Talvinder stares blankly at him for a moment. But for the moment, she has screamed herself hoarse and cried her eyes dry.

“How will we get there?” Savreen is, once again, calm as she speaks.

“I left my horse at the inn in the village.”

“You walked to the keep?”

“I find it useful to anticipate the worst.”

“But there’s three of us now.”

“I have enough coin and enough influence to get another.”

“Then we -” Savreen stops speaking, and Tali wonders why until it hits her. An acrid smell slithers through the air. Smoke. In the darkness, both of them turn. They glance upwards, where the stars are obscured by a plume of smoke. Their eyes follow the smoke back to its source, dreading what she knows she will see. 

Their home is lit against the night sky by the fires that burn it. There is no hope for Tali’s mother or her father now, no hope for her aunt and uncle. Abarie whines next to her, nuzzles her nose into Talvinder’s gloved palm. Sher stands close to Sav, who presses a hand to her mouth. For a moment, the group of stands there, watching. Then, acting like her heart isn’t shattering, shrivelling, and dying all at once, Talvinder turns away from the place that has been her whole world for so long. For her whole life. 

“Then we ride for Ostagar,” Tali says, finishing Sav’s sentence, “and we don’t look back.” Reluctantly, feeling something break inside her as she does, she ties the belt with her father's kirpan around her waist. In the dark, as they return to the inn and Duncan’s horse and their escape, she cries.


	2. Towards Ostagar

The next days are bitter. Wrapped in a quickly purchased cloak, Talvinder sits numbly behind Savreen, Duncan riding alongside them. At times their horse gallops, at times it trots or cantors. At times, Tali recites prayers in her mind, lips too tired to speak the words, voice too broken from tears. All the while, Abarie and Sher run alongside, their huge paws making almost no sound. Occasionally they reach into a saddlebag for some dried meat, or an apple, or a water skin, and there are a few moments when Duncan or Sav abruptly slow their horse to water and feed it before climbing up again and continuing on. Time blurs together into the sound of hoofbeats and clanking armor and the slight feeling of chafing from the horse’s movement. Daily rituals, moments of cleanliness are forgotten in the hectic and terrifying pace of their travel. Both Tali and Sav don’t bother opening the small bags, hastily filled with the last remnants of their lives. They aren’t ready, but more than that, there’s barely time. It's with shock that Tali realizes she's still wearing her nightshirt, and and she keeps forgetting about the long cut to her shoulder, twisting and opening up the scab again. It will surely scar.

After the second day, their little group stops to rest. The horses have been slowing for some time, and stand panting in the clearing Duncan has found. Talvinder slides slowly down, the quiet ache in her thighs and lower back suddenly roaring forward; Savreen drops quickly beside her.

“How much farther?” Tali asks. She realizes her voice is dull. 

“Another five days, perhaps. But we cannot go much farther without resting the horses.” Duncan is quickly padding the ground with leaves near the base of a boulder, unfurling his bedroll next to the pile before building a small fire nearby. Abarie pants and pads over to Talvinder’s side, where she nuzzles her hand and whines softly. Tali pets her forehead absently. Her mind is still on the storeroom floor at Highever, slick with the blood of her uncle. She’s acutely aware of Sav’s presence next to her. They haven’t spoken more than a few words since Highever. Talvinder reaches her free hand out to touch Sav’s, but then Duncan speaks again. 

“In the meantime you should rest.” His quiet voice startles Tali, and she stares blankly at him. “I will take the first watch.” She can tell there is no negotiating, and so can Sav. As uncomfortable as Tali may be, she doubts that if she takes off her hastily put on armor that she will ever want to put it back on. And besides, it would be unwise and unsafe to do anything more than simply clean her wounds. Bathing is out of the question. So she just unhooks her shield and sword, pulls the bag from her back, and sets them in the bare grass as she kneels down and begins padding together more leaves next to Duncan’s bedroll. Savreen does the same, simply setting aside her swords and then balling up her cloak into a pillow.

“No, the bedroll and the leaves. They’re for you two.” In Duncan’s eyes, there is a brief moment where Talvinder sees an endless pool, dark and sorrowful. It changes the shape of his voice as he speaks now. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save them. Take your rest while you can. I’m sorry there aren’t two bedrolls.”

Savreen looks over at Tali, and Tali jerks her head towards the bedroll. Savreen hands Tali her balled up cloak, and then hesitantly, but gratefully, she slides over and lifts herself onto the bedroll. Tali takes a moment and, using as little of their water as she can on the corner of her shirt, dabs at the dried blood on her shoulder and collar. Soon, however, she gives up, and, exhausted, turns to Sav. Together, both of them recite the kirtan sohila again, the words flowing naturally from their lips, though they ache in Tali’s throat. Once the two of them fall silent, Sav unbraids her hair to begin brushing the thick curls, painstakingly maintained, never cut. Tali lays down the first cloak and covers herself with Sav’s, huddling close to her. Duncan sits a ways away, near the fire he has built, facing away from them. Abarie walks in a few circles, and then rests her head in Tali’s lap, while Sher curls up next to Sav’s side. Normally, the hounds would pace the outskirts of the little camp, marking the territory and keeping guard. But Tali knows that Abarie can tell she is needed in a different way tonight, and so can Sher. The mabari whines lightly, and turns her eyes up to Tali’s. It reminds her of simpler, better nights spent cuddling the war hound: when she was a teenager sleeping with her cousin on the battlements, trying to see the shooting stars; when Abarie was a gangly yearling and they had lain on the floor in the library, listening to tutor Aldous drone on and on about history to Fergus; when, on the day when Savreen and Talvinder had been given their hounds, the war dogs just tiny puppies. The fire had warmed them all, while father and uncle told stories late into the night.

Father. He was gone now. So was uncle. So was tutor, and even the battlements. A quiet sob buckles through Tali’s chest, and she squeezes her eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. She bites her hand, trying to stay silent, but Savreen is done rebraiding her hair, and she has heard. Abarie whines again, and Sav shifts, turning to face Tali. She can see tears on Sav’s face, too.

“Tali I—”

“Sav, I don’t—”

“You first.”

“No, you, I interrupted.” Savreen reaches out to touch Talvinder’s hand under their blankets. Their karas clink together softly, the bangles a strange reminder of what’s been lost. Tali wants to look at her eyes, she does, but she’s afraid of what she will see there. She’s afraid she won’t be able to handle it.

“Tali, I miss them.” The leaves beneath them are crunching, and Tali can feel a vise tightening around her upper chest. When she looks down, she can see that both of their hands are shaking. Sav is suppressing sobs. “I—I—I’m sorry we had to take you like that.” A deep breath. Abarie whines again, moving closer to Tali, nosing underneath her arm.

“Did we fail them, Sav?” Her cousin suddenly stops shaking, though the tears still leak slowly across her nose and down her cheek to the bedroll beneath her. Sav moves so quickly, Tali isn’t prepared, but the feeling of her hands on Tali’s face isn’t unwelcome.

“Tali.” A slight tremor in her voice breaks the smoothness of her tone, but she continues. “Tali, we did everything we could. They told us to go. We did not fail them.”

“Sav I was so busy fighting to stay I—I never said goodbye.” _But you did._ The unspoken words hang in the air, so bright and clear and accusatory that Tali is sure Sav can see them. If she does, though, she says nothing. Tali regrets so deeply even thinking them, but there’s a yawning pit inside her, and it feels satiated when she lets the anger bubble over, even just inside.

“They knew, Tali. They knew we loved them. You did not have to tell them.” For some reason, Tali can’t cry, even though Sav has finally given in and is sobbing quietly through her reassurances. Jealousy starts to crawl out of the pit, yanking the vise around her even tighter, so that the pain in her chest sharpens to an almost unbearable point. How can Sav be so sure? How can she say that, when she did get the chance to say her goodbyes?

Tali brings one hand up to Sav’s, and pulls it down from her face. The jealousy is wrong, it’s ridiculous, but indulging it dulls the ache around the loss of her family. So she lets the thoughts swirl quietly, bites her tongue, and nods to Sav. Still holding her hand, Tali rolls over onto her back, causing Abarie to move back. Her chest is shaking again now, and Abarie walks about in a few circles before lying her head down on it, her body curled so that her flank rests up by Tali’s head. Holding Sav’s hand with her own, Tali wraps her other arm around Abarie’s body, shaking fingers ruffling her wiry fur. Her eyes burn, but still no tears, and, wishing she had gotten a chance to say goodbye, hating herself for it, she lets her eyelids droop closed. Her last thought before she drifts into sleep is about how much she’s lost to gain what she wanted, to gain her freedom, a chance to fight. She isn’t sure it was worth it.

***

The morning takes forever to arrive, but when it does, it does so abruptly. Tali is woken by the loud hiss of water on embers as Duncan puts out the remains of the fire he set. As she sits up, shoulders aching and hips feeling absolutely wretched from sitting on that horse for so long, Tali spots Sav, rubbing sleep and the traces of tears from her eyes. After her inability to cry last night, the lump in her throat and damp in her eyes comes as a surprise.

“I’m sorry, Sav.” Her cousin is in the middle of unbraiding, smoothing out, and rebraiding her hair, there on top of the borrowed bedroll, and she looks up at Tali with confusion in her dark eyes.

“What for, Tali?” But Tali has already moved away, dropping Savreen’s cloak next to her before heading over to the saddlebags resting by a tree. Abarie follows her close behind while she digs out some dried meat and somehow drier bread. As Talvinder tosses Abarie the meat and crunches into the bread, fastening her own cloak back around her shoulders and trying desperately to stretch the pain out of her muscles, Savreen watches. Sav sees her crouch down, fiddle with something, and covertly begin to cry.

“We need to make haste. We must make it past Denerim unseen, before they expect us, if we are to reach Ostagar at all.” Duncan saddles the first horse, breaking Sav’s concentration on Tali. Hastily, she finishes wrapping up the bedroll, and carries it over to Duncan, retrieving some meat for Sher as well before lifting the saddle to her and Tali’s horse.

“Come on, Tali. It is time to go.” Sav knows that Tali will feel better once they begin to move again. She knows that her cousin will stop thinking about what’s behind them once she can actually see ahead. But the look that Tali gives her, one filmed with tears and something like betrayal, makes Sav desperate for Duncan to leave, to disappear into the woods and never to speak to them again.

She knows that won’t happen. So she tightens the saddle, grabs another piece of dried meat for herself from the bag, and climbs up onto the horse. Tali has no choice but to climb up behind her.

“It will all be all right, you will see, Tali.” Tali says nothing as Duncan spurs his horse forward, and Sav steers her own mare to follow. It will be a long ride to Ostagar.

***

After another punishing two days, the group rests again, and this time Duncan guards Savreen and Talvinder as they wash. Duncan is still quiet, but when Savreen asks about Weisshaupt later, while she and Tali are wringing out their long hair by the fire, he breaks the silence of their small camp and speaks of the warden fortress. But Tali doesn’t hear; she sits thinking of the visible spread of the soulrot through her father’s limbs, fighting and then giving into memories tinged with imagination of fetid flesh, suppurating and laving off the bone even as her father lives and breathes—and then her watch is over, and Duncan takes her place. How long has she been thinking about her father? She doesn’t know, and when her head hits the bundled up bedroll, hastily purchased from a roadside merchant, it doesn’t matter. Time stops and starts again, tilting precariously, and she feels even more tired when she wakes up.

Duncan only stops the third time when the horses refuse to move further. He curses a bit, but then realizes the folly of forcing them forward. If they fall, the final sprint will take them exceedingly longer. Tali and Sav don’t mind, and neither do the mabari. Unused to long stretches awake, they unfurl their bedrolls and fall asleep instantly upon them. Duncan wakes them too soon again, but his news is better than it’s been the whole time they’ve been riding. They will reach Ostagar within the day, and they do, just as the sun is rising.

With Savreen dozing lightly behind her, Talvinder catches her first glimpse of the fortress. It appears almost out of nowhere, thick copses of huge pines giving way to stone walls that seem just as much part of the land as the trees.

“How old is this place?” Behind her, Sav starts awake as Duncan answers Tali’s question.

“It was built by the Tevinter Imperium, to defend the land they conquered and stole from the Chasind peoples. Their southernmost defensive stronghold It’s fitting we make our stand here, even if we face a different foe in this forest.” The gate looms ahead of them, and Duncan reins his horse in from its gentle trot to a full stop before jumping down. His daggers clink musically as his feet plant on the ground. Tali takes it as a cue and quickly reins in the other horse, waiting for Sav to hop down before she follows suit.

“What I tell you now is very important. The king’s forces have already clashed with the darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself.”

“How do you—” Duncan holds his hand up to silence Sav and continues on.

“There are only a few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here. This Blight must be stopped here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall. So you will both listen to me, and do as I and the king command.” Mutely, the young women nod, and Duncan begins leading his horse forward. They follow him on foot, the massive gate seeming to grow ever taller as they close in. Tali cranes her neck backwards, trying to see the stonework up at the top, before a loud, brash voice calls out and startles her.

“Ho there, Duncan!” Sav steadies Tali with a hand between her shoulder blades and a soft, wan smile, which Tali halfheartedly returns before facing the origin of the voice.

A man several years older than herself and Savreen stands in front of them, heavy golden plate shining almost as brightly as his blonde hair. A chipper smile crosses his face, and Tali is reminded of young men celebrating before the Highever tourney, full of anticipation. She glances at Sav, confused, and sees her cousin curtsying, before she realizes with a start who this is.

“King Cailan?” Duncan’s voice is surprised. “I didn’t expect—”

“A royal welcome?” The young king interrupts the Grey Warden with a clap on the back and more familiarity than Talvinder thinks she will ever be brave enough to muster. A sidelong glance in Savreen’s direction tells her that the older woman is thinking exactly the same thing. “I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun! And even here, as our battles are going so well.” Duncan is resigned as he answers.

“Not if I could help it, your Majesty.”

“Ah, then I’ll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious.” Still beaming, he seems to have finally noticed Sav and Tali, and as he looks them up and down, asks “The other Wardens told me you’d found some promising recruits. I take it these are the ones?”

“Yes, allow me to introduce you your Majesty—”

“No need, Duncan. I remember Teyrn Bikram’s youngest, Savreen. And that makes you Teyrn Birsingh’s daughter, Talvinder. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your cousin—” he inclines his head slightly towards Sav in deference – “but not yourself.”

“Yes, your Majesty, and it is a pleasure to see you again after so long,” Sav says, the picture of decorum.

“Your brothers have already arrived with the men of Highever, though we still await your fathers.”

“Are you not even aware that our family is dead?” The words pull themselves from Tali’s mouth before she can stop them, overcome with amazement that this massive catastrophe, this unspeakably earthshattering event, has remained a secret for a little over a week. Finally, the shining smile falters, and worry creases Cailan’s brow.

“Dead? What do you mean? Duncan, do you know anything about this?”

“The Teyrns and Teyrnas Cousland are dead. Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor, and overtaken Highever Castle. It was a slaughter, your majesty.” His last words are an addition, one meant, perhaps, to soften the blow of Talvinder’s sudden outburst. If it works, she can’t tell, as the wrinkles of perturbation still hang on Cailan’s forehead. “Had we not escaped,” Duncan continues, “he would have killed us and told you any story he wished.”

“I—” Cailan’s eyes dart between the small group huddled in front of him, his voice momentarily stilled. “I can scarcely believe it! How could he think he would get away with such treachery?” He pauses and composes himself somewhat, thinking on his next words before continuing. “As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word.” Savreen quickly interjects before Tali can say anything.

“Thank you, your majesty. We are most grateful.”

“No doubt you may wish to see your brothers. Unfortunately, they are both out with separate scouting parties in the Wilds.”

“When will they return?” Sav asks it, but Tali is wondering it, as well.

“Not until the battle is over, I fear. Until then, we cannot even send word. I apologize, but there is nothing more I can do in the meantime.” There is genuine sorrow in his voice, but it is the pity there which irks Tali. “All I can do is suggest that you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being.” This ‘grief’ he speaks of snaps suddenly in Tali’s chest, and before she can think better of it or stop herself, she shouts at him.

“What would you know about my grief?” Tension descends between them all, and Savreen goes pale as she hisses a chastisement at Tali, though there is more sadness in her words than anger. Duncan attempts once more to smooth over the situation, though he stutters some this time.

“Y-your majesty…I apologize…” But of all of them, the only one who appears fully unfazed is Cailan. He waves his hand as if to bat away the moment, and Tali is surprised with the softness of his voice when he speaks again.

“Don’t worry, Duncan. You must both be eager to reach your tents. You have had a very long journey, no doubt. Have you any news before we part?”

“Only that your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week.”

“That’s just like him, to swoop in and claim all the glory. Well, the battle is going ahead as planned. If he arrives in time, he’ll get his part. But for now, I must return to my tent. Loghain is waiting there to bore me with his strategies. Farewell for now, Duncan. My ladies.” He turns on his heel and retreats down the stone roadway, while Duncan gives Tali a very sharp look.

“Please, remember that we need his favor, not his ire.” Mollified, but still mad, she looks at her boots and scratches Abarie’s head.

“It sounds as though all is going…well?” Savreen breaks the silence with her question, and Duncan turns his attention to her instead.

“What the king said is…true. They have won several battles against the darkspawn here.”

“And yet you do not sound totally reassured,” Sav presses. Duncan motions for them to follow him, and responds to her probing reluctantly.

“Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us. I know there is an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling.

“Why not? He seems to think quite highly of the Grey Wardens,” Sav points out as they approach a wide bridge. Duncan smiles—or perhaps grimaces—wryly.

“Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais. He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. And to that end,” he stops and turns to face the two of them, and Abarie, not expecting the sudden pause, bumps into the backs of Tali’s knees. “We should proceed to the Joining ritual without delay.”

“The Joining ritual? What ritual?” Tali cocks her head as she asks, trying desperately to remember Aldous’s lessons on the Grey Wardens. There’s nothing in there about rituals. She can tell from the quizzical look on Sav’s face and the way she shrugs her shoulders that her cousin is drawing a blank, too.

“Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the joining in order to become a Grey Warden. The ritual is brief, but some preparation is needed.” Sav nods, and then asks

“What do you need us to do, then?”

“Well, feel free to explore the camp as you wish, but I must ask that you do not leave it for the time being. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it’s time to summon the other recruits. Your hounds can stay with me while I attend to some business.” Both Abarie and Sher whine slightly before Tali and Sav motion for them to follow Duncan. Sher barks happily and Abarie licks the palm of Tali’s hand, and then they are trotting on Duncan’s heels as he begins his way across the bridge. “The Grey Warden tent is on the other side of this bridge, in the main encampment near the king’s tent. You will find us there, should you need anything.” Tali and Sav watch him for a moment, before Tali feels Sav’s hand rest on her upper arm. Her face burns. Here comes the reprimand. She drops her eyes to the ground.

“I am sorry, Tali.” What? She snaps her head up, confused, to look at Savreen. “For criticizing you in front of the king, and Duncan. I shouldn’t have—well, it made things…it was awkward all around, and I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.” A faint laugh ripples through Tali, and she puts her hand on top of her cousin’s.

“That was…the last thing I expected you to say.”

“Oh it was still absolutely reckless and indecorous of you, but then again, things are not exactly normal.” Another laugh, this time barked shortly before Tali realizes what she’s done and slaps a hand over her mouth.

“Sav I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed, I-“ The laughter has dropped through her stomach like a burning coal, but Sav doesn’t seem quite so horrified. Instead, she shakes her head and enfolds her younger cousin in a hug. There are no words, but none are needed. The anger inside Tali cools for a moment, and she forgets all the twisted jealousy for a goodbye she didn’t get to say, at least for as long as Savreen’s arms are wrapped around her. Tali has to stoop slightly in order to rest her head on Sav’s shoulder, and she feels tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and ripping at the back of her throat. Even with the anger gone, the jealousy, the shame of laughing at just how much their life has changed, she still feels something roiling within her, and it takes her a minute to figure out what it is.

It’s not what she laughed at. It’s not anything so small. It’s that she was even able to laugh at all. The tears are starting to come on thick and fast now, and she feels herself start to panic. I can’t cry here, not here, anywhere but here—

“Should we go find Alistair and the others?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Could you just, um, lead the way? I think there’s a rock in my boot. I’ll catch up with you.” Hurriedly, Tali hides her face, though she’s not sure why. Sav knows she’s crying, how could she not? But still, she doesn’t want her cousin to see, and so she bends down, facing away from Sav, and starts unbuckling her boot slowly. Deep breaths in, and out, gently, gradually, just concentrate on the rhythm, just in and out, nothing else. It takes a few minutes, but she can feel the tightness in her throat and eyes start to recede. It does nothing for the guilt sitting heavy in her limbs, but at least she won’t burst into tears at the first guard they encounter. Or whoever this Alistair is. And if he’s anything as intimidating as Duncan, that would be just the mortification she would need. Imagine breaking down in front of another grizzled and high-ranking Grey Warden. And then having to follow their command! Even though Sav knows it’s a ruse, and even though she’s somehow made it most of the way across the bridge, Tali still makes a show of taking off her boot, shaking it out, and pulling it back on before she jogs to catch up.

“Took you long enough. Let’s see if we can find these mysterious Grey Wardens.”


	3. It Brings People Together

Finding Alistair takes them longer than they would like, but, to be fair, Tali and Sav do take a break to find somewhere to wash and pray, first. Tali finally has a chance to fully clean her wound, and she knows she’s lucky to have avoided infection. Still, the scab has torn enough that it's ringed in red and still painful to touch. She brushes off Sav’s worry with a smile and covers the wound, promising to find a healer in camp before too long and turning to wash herself.

Though Tali and Sav both feel fresher after washing, their hair especially, any other feelings of cleanliness are ruined when they have to put on their old clothes. In the end, though, it’s less time consuming than the nap both of them desperately need but can’t afford, and it will have to do for now. More importantly, it lets them turn their attention to finding the other warden recruits and Alistair. While the encampment at Ostagar isn’t exactly huge, it is confusing, and Tali’s penchant for speaking to every mildly pleasant face, and Sav’s insistence that they stop by the healers’ tent, slows them down considerably. By the time they find the mystery warden Alistair, Tali’s had her wound bandaged and been told off for leaving it so long, they’ve spoken to two soldiers, Loghain himself (he frightens Talvinder, the Hero of River Dane, and though Savreen admires his history, there is something in him she cannot trust), a group of Ash Warriors, both of the other recruits (while they seem nice enough, neither Tali nor Sav can quite get over Jory’s reaction to them), a middle-aged circle mage named Wynne, and a tranquil. And, as they approach the raised dais whence raised voices are emanating, the two of them exchange a sheepish glance. They needn’t have walked about the whole encampment after all, they could have simply listened for the shouting.

"What is it now?” An indignant voice calls, “Haven’t Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?”

“I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage. She desires your presence.” While the response isn’t snide, exactly, it does make Savreen and Talvinder glance between each other, confused. The voice is so young, it sounds as though this Alistair cannot be much older than the two of them. Which is unexpected. Hesitantly, they draw closer, unsure now of what they will see.

“What her Reverence ‘desires’ is of no concern to me! I am busy helping the Grey Wardens—by the king’s orders, I might add!” The mage, an older man, is positively fuming, hands balled into fists at his sides. But in front of him, arms crossed, the warden Alistair appears only mildly inconvenienced, arms crossed over the warden plate he wears.

“Should I have asked her to write a note?” Snark oozes from him in waves, and Talvinder takes a moment to look him over. He’s tall, maybe even a few inches taller than her, and his warm brown skin is a few shades lighter than her own, though his hair is distinctly lighter, somewhere between reddish blonde and brown. He’s built like her, though again a little larger, more muscular. The build of a strong warrior. Broad shoulders and a square jaw, with a long, slightly curved nose, give him a regal appearance—though his sarcastic demeanor mitigates that somewhat. What’s most surprising to Tali are the faint points at the tips of his ears. Though, with his fine features and the strange grace about him, elven blood does seem to make sense.

“Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!” The continuing argument pulls Tali sharply from her appraising revery, just as she’s about to arrive at the conclusion that she finds this man disarmingly handsome.

“Yes, _I_ was harassing _you_ by delivering a message.” The slight wobble of his head emphasizes Alistair’s words, making the sarcasm doubly biting.

“Your glibness does you no credit.”

“Here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you…the grumpy one.” Tali can’t help it. At that, she lets out a bark of laughter, though she claps a hand over her mouth as soon as Sav gives her a withering look. The mage and Alistair both turn to look at her, and Alistair puffs slightly, as though thrilled his joke has landed somewhere, even if Tali feels slight shame for laughing. The mage, on the other hand, is not happy.

“Enough!” With a growl, he begins stalking away. “I will speak to the woman if I must! Get out of my way, fool!” Blustering as he goes, the man storms between Tali and Sav, and they step aside to let him pass. Alistair sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, and then speaks again.

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.” Once more, Tali laughs, though she’s as surprised at her reaction as Savreen, and Alistair, even.

“I know exactly what you mean,” she says, exhaustion making her bold. So what if she wouldn’t say it normally?

“It’s like a party: we could all stand in a circle and hold hands. _That_ would give the darkspawn something to think about.” Tali chuckles again, closing her eyes as she does so and missing the repeated look of surprise Alistair throws at her. A beat passes while he looks the two of them over, eyes taking in Talvinder’s height and muscles, and Savreen’s lithe, long build. “Wait, we haven’t met, have we? I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?” Sav speaks before Tali can, though she’s opened her mouth to respond.

“We haven’t met. You must be Alistair.” Tali watches as her cousin steps forward, holding out a hand. Alistair takes it and shakes it once, firmly, as a spark of recognition lights his eyes.

“Duncan told me there would be recruits looking for me. That makes you them, I suppose? Glad to meet you. As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the joining.”

“We’re pleased to meet you. I am Savreen, and this is my cousin Talvinder.” Alistair’s attention turns again to Tali, and he offers his own hand to her, in a reversal of Savreen’s motion. She takes it, noting the firmness of his grip, and can’t help but count how many times Alistair shakes her hand, in comparison to Sav’s. His eyes, she notices, are brown, bright like lacquered wood in the sunshine.

“Right. Those were the names.” He says it absently, eyes still locked with Tali’s. She can feel something like embarrassment flooding her face, and turns away to hide it, gently pulling her hand from Alistair’s. Her kara tinkles lightly against the metal of his bracers, and it appears to startle him back to the moment. He blinks, and then seems to yank randomly at the first thought that comes to his mind. “You know...it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?”

"You want more women in the Wardens, do you?” Tali can see the instant regret on Alistair’s face as she challenges him, attempting to regain her footing in the conversation and shake that shared moment from her mind. He swallows, eyes glancing side to side.

“Would that be so terrible? Not that I’m some drooling lecher or anything. I didn’t mean it that way –” When Sav chuckles slightly, he turns to look at her, exasperation and a little bit of anxiety clouding his expression. “Please stop looking at me like that, I swear I’m glad both of you are here. The bird Duncan sent, the message—I know you can hold your own.” He shifts, uncomfortable on his feet, and then grins crookedly, raising one eyebrow in a sort of plea. “Besides, I’m sure you’re both better suited to being Wardens than I am.” His bashful expression and the sincerity behind his words make both Tali and Sav smile, with Sav letting out another chuckle. Relief crosses Alistair’s face, and he takes advantage of the change in tone to switch topics away from his ill-chosen subject of conversation. He clears his throat, and then asks “So, I’m curious. Have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?”

Tali can feel the faint smile slip from her face. To her side, Sav’s expression hardens. Unsure what to say, Tali turns to her cousin, the older one, the one better with words, who sighs and answers.

“No, truthfully, we haven’t.” Thankfully, though, Alistair doesn’t seem to judge them for it. He simply nods and crosses his arms over his chest, one hand resting slightly curled against his chin.

“When I fought my first one, I wasn’t prepared for how monstrous it was. I can’t say I’m looking forward to encountering another. But you should be prepared. And know I’ll have your backs.” Again, the sincerity of his words rings out like a bell, and Tali realizes she is intensely grateful that this man will be with them through whatever lies ahead. Next to her, Sav smiles softly and inclines her head. But Tali knows it will be at least a little longer before her cousin trusts Alistair. Before she trusts anyone, after Highever. Those thoughts pass through Tali’s mind in an instant, and the name of Highever feels like an icy bath, a shock to her system. She feels like stumbling. Sav reaches out to steady her, and Tali starts at the touch, reflexively yanking her arm away. Pain flashes across Sav’s features, and for some reason, Tali doesn’t try to correct Sav’s misapprehension.

“Anyhow,” Alistair’s words feel like they come ages after he last spoke, though Tali knows that it’s only been a few seconds, at most, “whenever you’re ready let’s head back to Duncan. I imagine he’s eager to get things started.” His nonchalance surprises Tali. Either he hasn’t noticed the tense moment which just passed, or he’s better at hiding things than he seems.

Savreen nods, and their small group turns. As they begin walking down the slope of the dais, back towards Duncan, she asks Alistair, the question on both her and Tali’s minds.

“The argument we happened to walk in on…what was that about? I would not have expected to find such discord in the king’s camp before a battle.”

“With the mage, you mean?” As Alistair answers, they pass the mages’ enclave, and all three of them look at it reflexively before he continues. “The Circle is here at the king’s request and the Chantry doesn’t like that one bit. They just _love_ letting mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position.” He pauses, unsure of what his new companions’ responses will be, and continues with reluctance. “I was once a templar.” The admission hangs in the air for a moment. Though Sav and Tali aren’t Andrastian, they are more than familiar with the templars, the mage-hunters. Memories flash through Tali’s mind, of the templars who came to the Gurdwara, seeking one of the young apostates sheltered there. Of the way the Granthi sent them away, empty-handed.

“That would be awkward,” Tali acquiesces, eyeing Alistair with a guarded expression, though his clear discomfort at his past affiliation comforts her somewhat. When she looks to Savreen, Tali can see that she, too, is glad to find Alistair less than enthusiastic about the templars. Alistair continues, speaking half for the two of them and half for himself.

“I’m sure the revered mother meant it as an insult—sending me as her messenger, I mean—and the mage picked right up on that. I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we’re all to cooperate and get along.” As they approach Duncan’s tent, both it and the fire sheltered by some ancient pillars, Alistair ruefully remarks, “apparently, they didn’t get the same speech,” before turning his attention to his commander. Duncan looks up from the report he’s reading, and then sets it aside and stands. Sher and Abarie bound up from where they sit and return to flank Sav and Tali, falling into their normal places.

“You found Alistair, did you? Good. I’ll assume you are ready to begin preparations. Assuming, of course, that you’re quite finished riling up mages, Alistair.” Duncan has the sharp look of a father scolding a child, and, for a moment, Tali is reminded of her own father, reprimanding her after scaring away her first suitor. The memory is fleeting, though, as Alistair’s response and the approach of Daveth and Jory break the moment.

“What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army.” Though Alistair speaks with nonchalance, Tali can see in the way he raises his shoulders, lowers his head ever so slightly, stance turning crooked rather than straight, that he’s heard Duncan, processed the chiding in his tone.

“She forced you to sass the mage, did she?” Duncan’s gaze isn’t withering, rather more exasperated. But Tali can see something even more surprising in it: tenderness, the kind she’s so intimately used to as passing between her and her own father. She’s beginning to understand just how close Alistair and Duncan truly are. Duncan sighs a bit, shakes his head, and continues. “We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don’t need to give anyone more ammunition against us.” Tali feels even more of an outsider to this conversation, an interloper, when Alistair shifts and speaks softly.

"You’re right, Duncan. I apologize.” Duncan nods, and suddenly his demeanor shifts. He’s speaking not just to Alistair now, but to all of them, and now he is the commander Tali expects.

“Now then, since you are all here, we can begin. You four will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain four vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit.” Jory starts at the news, drawing everyone’s momentary attention, but he quickly shoves down whatever his reaction is. As she turns back towards Duncan, Savreen asks:

“And what’s the second task?”

“There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them.” Here, Duncan turns to Alistair, rather than the recruits. “Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls, if you can.” Curiosity gets the better of Talvinder.

“What kind of scrolls are these?” she asks, mind spinning through Aldous’s numerous lessons on the Wardens.

“Old treaties, if you’re curious.” Though Duncan’s voice is light, it is clear these treaties are important, and Tali listens carefully. “Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago. They were once considered only formalities, after all, who would not support the Wardens during a Blight? But with so many having forgotten their commitments to us, I suspect it may be a good idea to have something to remind them with.” Duncan turns, picks up and rifles through a leather folio case, and then approaches the group again with a map, which he hands to Alistair.

“It will be an overgrown ruin by now, but the sealed chest should remain intact. If the magic has held, then these treaties should only be accessible to a Grey Warden.” Alistair looks at the map, at its markings that, to Tali, seem only vague suggestions, and then nods, tucking it away into a leather pocket on his belt. “Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly, and safely. The battle will not wait for you for long.” Again, the tenderness, the voice of a father to a son. Tali looks away as Alistair answers Duncan’s entreaty, thoughts of blood on stone floor and a poisoned hand twisting her stomach and her spine.

“We will.” Alistair’s voice is confident. Tali hears her own in it. Her hand slides to her belt, to the sheath of her father’s kirpan.

“Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return.” Duncan dismisses them all, picking up his report and his folio case before lifting the flap to his tent and disappearing within.

“Right. We want to leave before midday, but before we can, you all need to make sure your blades are sharpened, waterskins full, and please, for the love of the Maker, if there’s any snacks you know you’ll want, make sure you bring them yourselves. Meet at the gates before the noon bell.” As Alistair speaks, Tali notices something like discomfort animating the line of his shoulders. “Daveth, Jory, after your weapons are ready, go to the Warden store and pick up supply packs for yourselves, Savreen and Talvinder.” He turns to the two of them as the men leave, running an appraising, if awkward, glance over their bodies. Tali and Sav look at each other, confused and bemused, as Alistair clears his throat and speaks. “Both of you, um, your armor has seen better days. Not that you don’t look fine, of course! But you should see the quartermaster before we leave. I mean, not that I’ve been looking.” Both Tali and Sav stifle their laughter, but Tali can’t help the pang that stills her chuckles as Alistair’s face reddens and he turns away. “Well. Now that I’ve embarrassed myself in front of every recruit junior to myself, I’ll just go jump off the fort’s causeway.” As Alistair marches away, Savreen smiles and turns with Sher on her heels, ready to leave, and Tali follows before pausing and turning back, nearly stumbling over Abarie.

“Alistair?” He looks up and back as she calls, and she can’t quite tell what compels her to say it, but she does. “I look forward to travelling with you.” His brows furrow, but a small quirk lifts the corner of his mouth into a smile.

“You do? Huh, that’s a switch.” And then Tali has to turn, has to catch up with Sav, and they’re going their separate ways.

The walk to the quartermaster’s station is both too long for silence and too short for any of the conversations Tali knows need to be had. Besides, the king’s encampment is hardly private.

“Alistair seems kind,” Sav eventually says, breaking the tension, and Tali breathes a sigh of relief. Conversation between them has never been hard before, and she’s so patently unused to dealing with it, that she doesn’t know what to do.

"He definitely appears more approachable than Duncan is. Do you think he will tell us what this Joining is?” Savreen frowns slightly, mouth pulling to the side as her nostrils flare.

“I have been wondering about that. Why keep it secret?” Tali shrugs, but Sav’s question seems to have been rhetorical, and she continues. “And why do we need the blood of darkspawn? It seems a strange request.” As Tali mulls over her cousin’s words, they reach the quartermaster’s stand. He looks up from where he stands, polishing a breastplate, and doesn’t bother moving closer.

“Well?”

“We have been sent to procure new armor,” Sav explains.

“Got a requisition?”

“No.”

“Got any coin?” Sav looks at Tali, and they both shift uneasily.

“No.” He snorts, turns the breastplate over, and goes back to work.

“Then you’ll get no new armor. Hey, you!” he yells at a harried looking courier, and she has no choice but to abandon what seems to be her sorely-needed break.

“Yes sir?” The young woman approaches, and Tali can see the tiredness writ across her features.

“Take this,” he motions to a bundle on a wooden table behind him, “to Bann Dace’s commander. If he’s got any complaints, don’t tell me about them. I’ll give you the coin when you get back. And an apple, if you’re quick about it.” With a sigh, she does so, and she’s gone in a flash, and the quartermaster seems to be ignoring Tali and Sav.

“Sir, we are with—”

“Doesn’t matter who you’re with,” he says. “I’ve had every last sot in this camp asking for this and that for the last week. I work for the king. I don’t work for every last Bann and Arl and their dog.” He ends his words with a jab of his finger at Sher and Abarie, who whine and cock their heads. Tali is bristling, frustrated beyond measure, but Sav puts a hand on her shoulder and then steps forward.

“Please, if you would listen, sir, we will not take more of your time than is needed.” The gentleness in her tone makes him look up, and as Tali looks at him, really looks, she can see that his face is sallow with the need for sleep. “We are the new recruits for the Grey Wardens, and we only need a few odds and ends to patch our armor before we venture into the wilds. We have no coin, but if you take it up with our commander, Duncan, I am sure he will see you compensated.” The quartermaster gives them both a long look, takes in the piecemeal build of their armor, seems to chew over his thoughts, and then, reluctantly nods.

“Fine. You’ve been more polite than most.”

“Thank you.” Sav, smiling lightly, moves forward as the quartermaster beckons and points to his stock of armor. Tali follows, a little surprised by how easily her cousin persuaded this man, but not willing to question it. Her training armor has been fine, but she’s lacking a chainmail shirt for under her char-aina, and if they’re to be facing darkspawn, she’s not willing to go without it. And besides that, she’d left without retrieving the cloth for her combat patka. Before too long, Tali finds what she’s looking for in a suitably long and wide mail tunic and a square bolt of cotton she can tie into a turban, and Sav finds greaves and bracers that will fit alongside her war bracelets and over her boots. Quickly, and before they can wear on the man’s patience further, they bid the quartermaster farewell and hurry to the camp’s blacksmith, seeking whetstones.

Tali can feel noon approaching when they finally head to meet Alistair and the others by the gates to the wilds. Despite the cool autumn air, as the sun moves higher in the sky, its light grows warmer. By the time she and Sav arrive at the gates, swords sharpened, new armor donned, Tali can feel the faint touch of sweat between her shoulder blades. She can already see Daveth and Jory, waiting there with Alistair, each with a compact but full-looking bundle of supplies slung over their shoulders, and two more sitting at their feet, waiting for her and Sav. With a glance at her cousin, Tali speeds up, feeling as though they’re late, despite the fact that the noon bell has yet to ring. When Alistair spots them, he motions to the guard by the gate, telling him to make ready.

“Our apologies. We didn’t realize—” Tali begins, the words anxious to get out, but Daveth shrugs and cuts her off as he pushes a bundle of supplies at her. Tali and Sav take a brief moment to combine the precious little they’ve been carrying with them into the new packs.

“We had less to do. Pretty-boy over there,” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Alistair, who is still speaking to the guard, “just told us bad jokes about cheese while we were waiting. Wonder why I let Duncan save me from the gallows, I do.” Tali chokes on her laughter as she shifts the shield fastened around her shoulders, moving it to accommodate the pack of supplies wrapped in dark blue fabric. She turns to help Sav with her pack, though both Sav’s swords are out of the way on her waist, and she doesn’t truly need the assistance. _I should say something,_ she thinks, _anything, before we go out there and before she has to trust me with her life_. But Tali’s mouth is dry. Even a whisper won’t rise to her lips, no matter how hard she tries, and the chance passes as Alistair approaches them.

“Everyone ready?” Alistair asks, eyes containing what looks like Tali to be barely concealed anxiety. When no one objects, he turns back toward the guard, motioning for the four recruits to follow. “Right, now if you could all follow my orders and make sure Duncan doesn’t get mad at me for, you know, letting you die, that would be grand.” Tali can just about hear Daveth roll his eyes, though he does smile ruefully. Jory looks ill, as though he might be sick any second. Savreen steels herself, eyes calm but intent, and Tali knows that look, the careful preparation for whatever might be ahead. For her own part, Tali isn’t sure what to think or how to feel about the venture ahead. But she doesn’t know what else there is, so she squares her shoulders where she stands next to Sav, watches as Alistair nods to the guard, who opens the heavy wooden gate, and follows him through it, into the Korcari Wilds.

***

To Tali’s surprise, the Wilds are, really, quite normal. There’s wolves, and there’s marshes, but they remind her more of the borderlands of one of the countless Southern Ferelden bannorns she’s visited than she expects. Each step the group takes, though, is filled with the tension of the oncoming Darkspawn horde. If it weren’t for that, it might be peaceful. Green and brown grasses rustle against each other all about, framing the ruined old Tevinter road they walk along. Moss clings to the stones. Somewhere, Tali can hear a marshbird singing.

And then, suddenly, she can hear labored, pained breathing. Sav notices it just before her, and runs toward the source of the noise, a soldier, clawing his way along through the mud and the tall grass. The man cries out with relief as Sav approaches, and then Tali, and together, the cousins pull him out of the grass and onto the road. In plain sight, they can all see he’s an utter mess. Mud and gore smear his face and armor, and his nose seems to be broken, the source of much of the blood. His left leg explains his broken crawl: it’s mangled, the leather of his boot torn away as if it were nothing, and a makeshift tourniquet is tied tight enough above his knee to make Tali’s stomach jump.

“Thank you, thank you, praise the Maker, I thought I was dead,” the man nearly sobs with relief, hands shaking. As Sav pulls her pack off her back and begins hunting for anything that might help with the man’s pain, Alistair steps forward and crouches close, pulling a waterskin from his belt and offering it to the wounded man. As he drinks eagerly, Tali notices the color of his livery, sees the coat of arms emblazoned on his sleeve. He’s one of the king’s men, from the arling of Denerim. Catching Alistair’s attention, Tali jerks her head toward the coat of arms. He looks slightly nonplussed, but he nods. Even if he doesn’t know specifics, he knows this is one of the men from the king’s camp. They wait for a moment before he’s finished drinking, and Sav pulls a small pouch of herbs from her pack with triumph.

“Take these and chew, but keep them in the pouch of your lip. Don’t swallow. They will help with the pain,” she says, pressing a large pinch of leaves and bark into the man’s palm. As he does so, Alistair clears his throat.

“Why are you alone?” The man shudders, skin going pale beneath the filth streaked across it.

“Darkspawn. Ambushed our scouting party. I was the only one who got away. There’s a whole forward camp of theirs, here in the Wilds. We were tracking signs of them—” Tali and Sav, blood cold, share a horrified glance. King Cailan’s words come back to them, and they can’t help but think of Fergus and Sikander.

“Who was in your scouting party?” Tali blurts out, tearing her eyes from Sav to face the wounded man in front of them. He starts at her urgency, at the fear in her eyes.

“A few other soldiers from Denerim, that’s all.” As Tali leans forward, desperate, nearly shouting, she can feel Sav’s hand on her shoulder.

“What about the other scouting parties? Was there a group from Highever? Are they all right?” Confusion and fear cross the man’s face, and he glances back and forth between all of them.

“I-I don’t know. But I’ve got to get back to the main encampment, to warn them!” Tali feels a kind of blinding fear gripping her limbs, and is stopped from shouting her questions again only by Sav pulling her back, out of her crouch and up to her feet, gently but firmly.

“Can you make it back on your own?” Alistair asks, doing little to attempt to hide his doubt. On the ground, the wounded man looks at his leg, and then looks around.

“I just-I just need to tie a split. I can make it.” Their conversation continues, but Tali hears little of it, and pays it no heed. Thoughts of her brother, of her cousin, out here in the Wilds, with an approaching army of Darkspawn, paralyze her. She paces away from their small huddle, seeking air, and Sav follows. Mute, Tali turns to face her cousin, whose mouth is set in a thin line, eyes wide with worry.

“They know how to handle themselves. They will be fine.” Sav seems to hardly believe her own words, though. “They’ll be fine.” Tali nods, slow and hesitant, and reaches a hand out to Sav’s. She doesn’t deserve this comfort, not after her jealousy and anger over the last week, but Sav reaches out too, and they have a quiet few seconds there before the sound of bickering pulls them back.

“What can a group of just five do against the forward guard of the Darkspawn army? We must turn back!”

“Jory, aren’t you supposed to be a knight? You know, fearless and true and all that?” Daveth’s voice is snide, irritated, though not fully without reason.

“This is madness!”

“Enough! We’ve been given a job, and we’ll do it.” Exasperation fills Alistair’s voice, and, absently, Tali wonders if he’s ever had to order about men older than himself before now. As she and Sav walk the few steps back towards the others, Tali can see the wounded soldier hobbling back toward the king’s encampment, a makeshift splint on his leg and a thick shrub branch tucked under his arm as a crutch. Something inside of her feels as though she’s watching her last chance to find her brother disappear, and she does her best to shove down the anxiety that rises in her stomach. “Ser Jory, we will be prepared. Grey Wardens can sense Darkspawn. Daveth…” Tali watches as Alistair casts around for words, struggling to speak. Finally, he lets out a sigh. “Daveth, just focus on fighting Darkspawn, not Jory.”

It’s clear the conversation is done, and Sav hastily puts her pack back together before they all begin moving again. The tension that followed them before presses down upon them now, heavy and constant, and it pushes them all to silence for a time. Before long, though, Jory and Daveth are back at each other’s throats again. Ahead of Tali, Alistair clenches his jaw, and she sees a vein pulse on his forehead. When they stumble across the body, it pushes Jory’s worrying to a fever pitch.

“We should never have come here. We're going to die!”

“Oh for the—Andraste’s tits! The good knight is more of a coward than the thieving cutpurse, who would have thought!” Ignoring them, Alistair sighs and beckons Tali and Sav forward. Together, they pull the body from a marshy pool and onto dry ground, trying their best to ignore the scent.

“Chantry robes. Some sort of wandering chanter, most likely.” Alistair’s face goes a little green, and Tali can’t blame him, what with the smell. But it’s clear there’s nothing to be done, and so they lamely leave the man’s corpse where they’ve set it and turn back to Jory and Daveth, who are now shoving and shouting.

“Hey!” It takes Alistair quite a bit to get between the two of them, and, seeing him struggle, Tali runs forward and grips Jory by the arms, pulling him back. It takes her only a bit of effort, and Jory goes with her. She takes a moment to look at Daveth, whose lip is slightly bloodied, and, out of spite, tweaks Jory’s arms just a touch harder than necessary before letting him go. “Have you forgotten that we’re in the Korcari Wilds? That we’ve got a job to do? If you’re so afraid of Darkspawn, Ser Jory, it might do you well to pay attention to your surroundings!” Alistair runs a gloved hand through his hair and squeezes the other around the hilt of his sword, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. Everything about his posture, his voice, his face, screams that this is something he’s never had to do before, and he’s uncomfortable. “And Daveth, you shouldn’t—” He freezes, ears twitching, and then curses, and then spins on his heel, looking about wildly.

The rest of them watch, dumbfounded, as Alistair yanks his shield from his back and unsheathes his sword. As he speaks, though, the smell hits them all, sickly sweet and heavy, like rotting meat.

“Darkspawn.” And then, there they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Lav for putting up with me during the endless brainstorming sessions and writer's block. And thanks to WritingWithColor for being such a great standing resource! Check them out on Tumblr if you get the chance.


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